The pressure’s on to write another. The question is; why do I bother. I wake each day before sunrise, colors burst before my eyes. ~ From black to purples then reds galore, the depths of each I shall explore. Orange and yellows welcome pale blues, clouds frame the futures clues. ~ Thoughts of dreams now come to light, yesterday’s dread now out of sight. Rhyming words soon fill my head. Verses form when the sleep is shed. ~ I ponder what this day will bring. I’ll sway in time as the birdies sing. I hope a love poem’s seeping in. Thinking of my sweet I start to grin. ~ She slumbers while I meet with dawn. The beauty of each I am drawn. Though today my mind’s a bit a-flutter, perhaps tomorrow I’ll write another.
I listen to the wind chime,
writing down a new rhyme,
like I do all the time.
But don’t dis me, it’s not a crime.
I’m thinking of my best friend,
the one I’ll love until the end.
She’s to cherish and defend,
her love of me I depend.
I pen a poem every day;
I say the words I cannot say.
Sometime blue and sometimes gay,
I write a lot but not for pay.
We talk a lot every night;
we laugh a lot and never fight.
We kiss a lot and know it’s right.
I stare at her in the morning light.
I get up early, no time to waste,
I need my morning coffee taste.
No need to hurry, no need for haste,
she’ll wake soon and I’ll be graced.
The hour near, I make the climb.
I’ll slip back in bed just like a mime.
Her eyes will open and my day’s sublime.
Then we’ll listen to the wind chime.